"My little granddaughter ... my boy's little girl," murmured the blind man, stroking her curls.
"My grandpapa," murmured Perrine, rubbing her soft cheek against his.
"Why didn't you tell me who you were?" he asked at last.
"But didn't I try several times?" replied Perrine. "Do you remember what you said to me the last time I spoke of dear mother and myself. You said: 'Understand, never speak to me again of those wretched creatures.'"
"But could I guess that you were my granddaughter?" he said.
"If I had come straight to you, don't you think you would have driven me away and not have listened to me?" asked Perrine.
"Ah," said the blind man, sadly, "who knows what I would have done!"
"I thought so," said Perrine, "and I thought it best not to let you know me until, like mama said, 'you would get to love me.'"
"And you have waited so long, and you had so many proofs of my affection."
"But was it the affection of a grandfather? I did not dare think so," said Perrine.